Denial Is The Fastest Path For Destruction
by Diana Prallon
Summary: So, if his heart raced when their shared a look, well, it was adrenaline, not love. [Mild 511 spoilers]


**Denial Is The Fastest Path To Destruction**

He couldn't trust him – he knew it, not only with his mind, but in his very bones. He'd be their downfall. That was the only reason he kept watching him. "Know your enemy", they used to say, and Merlin would know his.

Most knights just wouldn't understand him, but Merlin knew the reason beneath it. Even if Arthur had took him in and found him a place, he could never belong to Camelot – not while their people were persecuted and forbidden to worship as they saw fit.

They would tease him, and he would play – a young man, blossoming under their attention, but as they left him, his eyes would go sad and tired. It was hard, keeping a secret all the time, lying about who you are. Merlin knew it very well, and something in his heart ached and stirred with it. It was dangerous, to understand it all so well, so Merlin kept his distance. He knew he was often harsh and even a prat when it came to Mordred, but he couldn't change it – it was too dangerous to allow himself to care.

Still, Mordred was graceful about it in a way Merlin still found hard to be at times. Then again, it was something deeply ingrained in him, part of who he had always been. That was what made him such a good swordsman – he had all of Gwaine's ability to fight as if he was dancing, and all of Arthur's technique. He would, indeed, be the best of them all one day.

Of course, that would mean their doom. Merlin couldn't forget about that – not for a single instant.

It didn't matter that his eyes would shine in a different way when he caught Merlin's gaze (and he promptly looked away, of course, it was disturbing). It didn't matter that his dark curls made such a beautiful contrast with the pale skin. It didn't matter that it was cute how he still had troubles with his cape after all those months.

He was to be Arthur's downfall.

Merlin didn't like to watch him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Mordred. Any moment, any movement, any smile might be a hint of things to come – things he must desperately avoid. He had a reason, and it was a solid one, so he kept on looking.

Somehow, that led to a kind of softness in Mordred that he wasn't prepared for. He didn't see Merlin as most people saw, he saw the truth, and it was hard to hide from him. It didn't take Merlin long to see that Mordred watched at him as much as he watched Mordred.

Merlin couldn't say when his hands started taking part in this job, and moving to him briskly to help. He didn't allow the touched to linger, and he never allowed Mordred to catch his eyes when he did it. He could feel Mordred's body close, and the heat emanating from it – he could feel his magic, feeling him through the edges. Merlin would shrink from it, of course, the color rising in his cheeks, but Mordred would only look curious about it.

He clearly had no idea what he was doing – what it felt like. Maybe Mordred took for granted this kind of intimacy, having been in touch with other's people's magic his whole life, but for Merlin, alone as he had always been, it was overwhelming.

And then, there was this tone in his voice – that pleading tone, asking for friendship. Merlin wanted nothing more than to be his friend (or maybe he did), but he couldn't trust the druid. One day, Mordred would turn against them, and Merlin would accept it, because he was expecting it. One day, it would all be over, and he would laugh about the ridiculous ideas that crossed his mind sometimes – or at the loneliness that made him feel at the same time at home and completely exposed around the young knight.

So, if his heart raced when their shared a look, well, it was adrenaline, not love. He knew love – it took trust, and without trust, it broke. He couldn't trust Mordred, so he could not love him. He would never love him, and there would never be anything other than cool respect between Merlin and Mordred.

(If only things were that simple – but love never knew logic or caution, and there was no way out of heartbreak when it came to them, for Merlin might fool himself, but the truth was that even if he could never trust Mordred, he wanted nothing more than to be his. He would always wonder if _that_ would have been enough to keep him with them – if his love would give him the loyalty he needed, a new bond to break the previous ones – and never know the answer, never know if his heart could have saved them all).


End file.
